blank pages stared at me as if they wanted to take me out

and the fight is on

the pen spreads the ink as if were blood
from wounds that were buried
not yet ready to be written

and the fight is on

at times the white space wins
the door to my memories
lay locked tighter than the noose
that awaits me at home inside my closet
and at times I see vivid scenes which flood my memory
but when I pick up the pen
they scurry off.. howl at me, taunt me
and the door slams shut
that leaves me in the corner
confused…alone…and I wait for images which only comes out when least expected

and the fight is on

at times I just watch
let them play out as kids on the jungle jim
they wave at me to join them to play
but I shake my head
and walk away
for those memories
don't have the hold
on me as they use to
and I can write about them now
yet

the fight is on

and I know
those words will never be written
they don't have to be
for I need the white space

and the fight is on

maybe its the empty space that allows those memories to last
or maybe by not writing them out they can live another day
but
that’s not the truth

and the fight is on

truth is in that those memories are back there…
and I am here...where I want to be
and those memories are not worthy of wasting white space

and the fight is on

white empty space is for the new images that I am waiting for to show their face
and
I wait
for that is where

the fight is on

the fight is on

and so it goes

and the fight is on

11/02/2004

Posted on 01/18/2005
Copyright © 2025 Mark Maxey